by Dan Abnett
‘Then we must–’ I began.
‘What? What must we?’ Nayl asked.
‘Act on the presumption they are dead,’ I said. He looked bitterly surprised. ‘We waste time otherwise, Nayl,’ I said. ‘It’s what he would expect of us, isn’t it?’
‘Of course–’
‘And if he returns,’ I said, ‘if they return, then we will have work to show them.’
Nayl sat back.
‘Say your mind then,’ he said. ‘But know we are poorly provided, and there’s just the two of us.’
‘Three,’ I said, indicating Lightburn.
Nayl sneered.
‘Your Curst there can be handy, I’ll admit,’ he said.
‘You’re too kind,’ said Lightburn.
‘But,’ Nayl went on, ‘he knows nothing of this. Throne, you and I, Beta, we know shit-all either. Gregor had the overview.’
‘Then let us consider what we do know,’ I suggested. ‘First… Who struck at Bifrost?’
Nayl laughed, an ugly sound.
‘How long do you have?’ he asked.
‘Yes, there are plenty of parties in the frame, and we won’t exclude any, but I think there are two chief suspects.’
‘The Cognitae,’ said Nayl.
‘The Cognitae,’ I agreed. ‘They were the cause of this operation, and they are Gregor’s oldest foes. Some of their people escaped the Maze Undue… Mam Mordaunt, perhaps Saur and Murlees, perhaps even the Secretary. My point is they are still potentially active, and Undue was surely not their only stronghold here.’
‘They haven’t shown up since,’ said Nayl, ‘and they’ve probably gone to ground after Gideon hit them so damn hard.’
‘So, they’ve waited,’ I said. ‘The Cognitae play the long game–’
‘The longest,’ he agreed.
‘And they are a large operation. They may have got word out, and had reinforcement sent. It’s only been months, not that long. And we know the Cognitae’s work was grooming and procurement, through the scholams, to find suitable grael vessels for the Yellow King. At the Lengmur Salon, someone tried to pass information to us via Mam Tontelle, and she was silenced by graels. Then Eisenhorn pushes that with his séance, to get the truth from Mam Tontelle’s remains, and Bifrost is hit. Another silencing.’
‘The old girl’s message concerned Chase’s blue book, didn’t it?’ Nayl asked.
‘My reconstruction of which is now lost in the fire,’ I nodded.
‘So, the Cognitae,’ Nayl said. ‘And that makes your second suspect the King himself.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not him. The King, whoever and whatever he is, keeps himself apart. It almost feels as if we are too small for his bother. The Cognitae handles such matters on his behalf. He does not intervene directly–’
‘The graels–’ Nayl protested.
‘Even the graels of the so-called Eight, Harlon. They are his servants, yes, but I think they operate through the Cognitae too.’
‘You don’t know that,’ he said.
‘I don’t. But I think the King is only involved in as much as others have come after his adversaries for him. I really think he operates on another level entirely.’
‘So who is your second suspect?’ Nayl asked.
‘Ravenor,’ I said.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Ravenor’s operation is almost the twin of ours,’ I said. ‘He seeks the King, and all the King’s men. The difference is, Ravenor believes Eisenhorn is one of them. We know he seeks to apprehend or destroy Eisenhorn. We know the Ordos have only permitted him to continue as an inquisitor if he brings down his old master.’
‘No,’ Nayl repeated.
‘No? Because he was once your friend, and you cannot bear to think he would do so?’
‘He wouldn’t strike so bluntly,’ said Nayl. My suggestion had got him annoyed. ‘It’s not his way. So direct, and with such force.’
‘Eisenhorn fully expected he would,’ I said. ‘He told me so.’
‘You’re wrong–’ said Nayl.
‘The Ravenor I met was both strong-willed and direct,’ I replied. ‘If he had a chance, he would strike, and do the job he was sent to do. He would not flinch because of sentiment. He and Eisenhorn may have been close once–’
Nayl slapped his hand on the table and made me jump.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I was in Gideon’s band for a long time. I know his workings. He loves Eisenhorn. He cannot, I believe, accept that Eisenhorn has turned. Listen to me, Ravenor knows the day must come, some time. But I think he is putting the inevitable off. He wants no clash. And if the Ordos ask why he dallies and delays, then his answer is simple. He is observing. Gregor’s been in this struggle longer. Gideon’s best route to the King is through Eisenhorn. He’s cunning, Beta. He would not shut that lead down by killing it. Think about it. Ravenor sent you back to infiltrate us, not kill us. He shadows us. He learns what Eisenhorn knows, then uses that to bring the full weight of the Ordos down and topple the King. And maybe, in that hoo-ha, he can take Gregor alive. His job gets done, and perhaps then he can plead Gregor’s case to the Lords of the Inquisition. Leniency, because Eisenhorn has led them to the King.’
‘And they would spare him?’
‘They might.’
I sighed. ‘It’s academic, anyway. The deed’s done. Your loyalty, Harlon, is admirable, but it’s split. You’re Eisenhorn’s man, not Ravenor’s, not any more. You love them both. I think that love makes you forget they are both inquisitors. Inquisitors, Harlon! Souls bred to be hard, to be ruthless, to be merciless to the point of cruelty. It is the only way they can perform the task the Emperor has set them. Ravenor would kill Eisenhorn without remorse. Eisenhorn would kill Ravenor. You’re a hunter, Harlon, a sell-sword. Throne knows how many lives you’ve taken in your career. A stone killer. Yet, compared to them, you are a gentle and forgiving soul.’
‘Screw you,’ said Nayl, and got up with a screech of chair legs. He strode across the room and found the bottle of amasec he’d purchased the night before. He poured a heavy measure into a tin cup, and downed it.
‘You’re right,’ he murmured at last, staring at the bunker’s dank wall. ‘This damn life takes a toll. It breaks you, no matter how hard you’re made. Only the strongest – and for that you may read “cruellest” – prevail, and that’s why they are given the rosette. Inquisitors. I hate the bastards. Hate ’em, and love ’em the same. There is ruthless, and there is them.’
He glanced at me.
‘Yes, I’m a killer,’ he said. ‘A fighter. So was Medea. So was Midas. So are sweet Kara, and crazy Kys. So were all of them that came before. Misfits, killers, warriors, specialists. Toughest folk you’d meet, or not care to, on any world. But just fodder to them. Instruments. Agents of use. But even the most black-hearted and brutal of us… fah! We didn’t have a scrap of their merciless resolve.’
He raised the cup, a mocking salute.
‘To fighters,’ he said. ‘All of ’em, your mother amongst them.’
Nayl poured another measure, and stared at it as he swished it around in the cup.
‘I think I’m in your way,’ he said. ‘You can’t trust me.’
‘I know I can,’ I said.
Nayl shook his head and took a swig.
‘You think like him, you know that?’ he said. ‘Just like him. Clarity. Razor focus. No sentiment to cloud you. I don’t know if it’s your mother’s blood, or the way the Cognitae shaped your temper. Anyway, you see through me. I’m torn, and I have been for years. Two masters. Yes, I made a choice, but I’m damned either way. In this rivalry, my judgement is bad. I can’t see the game for the people in it. So I think it’s better I walk. Now, before I do some real harm with a poor decision. If I stay, I’ll mess this up.’
‘A poor decision?’ asked Lightburn mildly. ‘Lik
e that one?’
Nayl eyed him.
‘Shut your trap,’ he said.
‘You go,’ said Lightburn, ‘you’ll diminish this party by a third.’
‘A third, is it?’ said Nayl archly. ‘You’re not a part of anything, Curst. Just a hanger-on. A stray. Part of nothing, and not much use.’
‘Well, if I’m nothing, and you go,’ said Lightburn, ‘she’ll be alone.’
Nayl stared at him. He was going to say something, but the words didn’t form. He put the cup down.
‘Sorry,’ he said, and walked out.
CHAPTER 13
Names and tactics
‘Will he come back, d’you think?’ Lightburn asked.
I made a face.
‘Thank you for trying to speak some reason, though,’ I said.
‘Weren’t nothing,’ he replied.
‘Renner,’ I said, ‘you can go too. Whenever you like. You know that, don’t you? You’re not part of this if you don’t want to be.’
‘Reckon as I’ll stay, for a while,’ he said. ‘See, I don’t have anything. Not a thing, apart from a burden and one friend. So I’ll stay.’
‘You do not like to bear your friend when the truth of her pariah soul is open to you,’ I ventured, ‘and I understand that.’
‘I’ve borne worse,’ he said. ‘Just try not to do it too much.’
I left him to do the code-sends, the way of which I had taught to him, and went out. Late morning, and the rain had eased for the first time in days, as though the storm clouds had exhausted themselves in putting out the Talltown fire. The Pauper’s Field Commercia was in full swing, and bustling with trade. I went on through Shorthalls, past the packing plants and the rusted silos of the derelict orbital wharf.
I walked to clear my head, and straighten my thoughts. It was, it seemed, all down to me, now. There was a mission of great importance to be accomplished, and it was in my hands. It was perhaps, I decided, now my time to take the role of the alpha. Only out past Clerestory Rise did it occur to me that I had placed myself in the open. Those who had struck at Bifrost, and perhaps at Deathrow too, were still out there, and here I was, full of bold thoughts of strategy and approach, thinking like I was some interrogator taking charge of a case, yet acting like an untrained amateur.
I turned my cuff at once to dead, so that I might walk less noticed, or at least deter the interest and approach of any undesirables, and turned back, making my way home by a different route, my pace quicker, and my vigilance sharper. If I was going to be the lead on this now, I had to raise my game, and remember all of my training. All of the skills and all of the temper that had been forged in me by the Cognitae, now in the service of the Inquisition.
Returning to the bunker through the other end of Shorthalls, I saw him sitting in a commercia tavern, the Starry-Gazey. The front doors were open to the noon street to welcome thirsty market traders. There he sat, just inside, alone in a patch of the day’s weak sunshine. I had seen him before he noticed me.
I restored the limiter, went in, and sat down, facing him. Nayl looked up.
‘I was coming back,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘I was.’
‘Because you’ve had time to think,’ I said.
‘In truth,’ he said, ‘I was coming back because I’d remembered something. But I was coming back. I can’t leave you to this, because I know damn well you’ll keep on.’
‘I will.’
He nodded. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘this game will kill me. I know it. But something’s got to.’
‘What did you remember?’ I asked.
‘Names,’ he said. ‘They came to me, sitting here. It’s all been so much since the fire. Zoya. And Connort.’
‘And who are they?’
‘The two names spoken by Mam Tontelle’s chattering corpse during the interrogation. I wasn’t playing close attention, because those sessions turn your stomach, but I heard her dead lips say ’em before I left the room.’
I thought on it.
‘Zoya… I don’t know. But Connort…’
‘It’s a common name,’ said Nayl.
‘Yes, and I know one. Connort. Connort Timurlin. “The” famous musician. One of Crookley’s entourage at the Two Gogs.’
‘So he was there that night?’ Nayl asked. ‘The night Tontelle turned up her toes?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He was at Lengmur’s before he went to the Gogs with us. That’s not all. Just before Tontelle’s act started, I saw him in conversation with a woman at the salon door. It was a serious matter, whatever it was. I didn’t know him at the time, we were only introduced later. But the woman he was with…’
‘What about her?’
‘I knew her from somewhere.’
‘You knew her?’
I nodded.
‘Well, where, Beta? I know what your recall’s like. You see a face, you know it.’
‘That’s the thing,’ I said. ‘I knew that I knew her, but I could not place her or give her a name.’
‘So?’
I smiled at him.
‘It means she was in disguise, Harlon. A very good disguise. I did not know who she was pretending to be, but I could still recognise the actor beneath.’
‘A disguise?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m not talking about dress-up, Nayl. I mean trained disguise. She was performing a function. She was someone’s agent.’
‘Bet you all the coins in my pocket I know whose,’ he said.
We walked back together through the market.
‘We have options,’ I said, ‘but I know the one I mean to take first.’
‘Go to the Two Gogs?’ he suggested.
‘That’s second,’ I said. ‘First, I go with the plan I have been considering since Cherubael fetched me back to Bifrost.’
‘We go with the plan, you mean?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘And what is this plan?’
‘I’m going to Ravenor,’ I said.
‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘Medea told me of your notion. Go back to him and pretend you’re turning? The double-cross? Worm your way in? It’s too late for that.’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘And I think Talon would see right through it anyway, no matter how well I played my function.’
‘So what then?’
We had reached the side gate and walked down the steps to the bunker’s door.
‘We just go to him,’ I said. ‘No pretence. We tell him what happened. We tell him what’s at stake. We share what we have. He’s an agent of the Ordos, Harlon. One of the best. We have a mutual enemy. And we need a warband.’
We went inside. Lightburn looked up, and casually nodded to Nayl as though nothing had passed earlier in the day.
‘All right?’ he said.
‘Fine,’ said Nayl, with equal nonchalance. ‘Help me talk some sense into her.’
Lightburn sat up.
‘Her plan,’ said Nayl, pulling up a chair, ‘her plan, to glorify it with such a name, is to go to Ravenor.’
‘Under what pretence?’
‘Under no pretence,’ Nayl told him.
‘This is Ravenor, who hunts for us as heretics?’ Lightburn said.
‘The very same,’ said Nayl.
‘Well, I ain’t never met him,’ said Lightburn, ‘except that I have, but I don’t remember nothing of it, because Ravenor, so I am told, burned my memory out like a poker through paper so, yeah, I’d say that’s a stupid bloody plan.’
Nayl turned to me with a grin.
‘See?’ he said. ‘Even he thinks so, and he doesn’t even matter.’
I smiled. ‘Ravenor wants the King, we want the King,’ I said. ‘The city is rife with enemies, or at least factions that are hostile to both of us. We are
outnumbered, and so is Ravenor. I say we face him, and lay our cards on the table. A truce, a unity. Throne knows, they have both ever bent the rules. Eisenhorn and Ravenor. Necessary compromise. That’s why one’s called a heretic and the other is labelled a rogue. They bend the rules for the greater goal. Indeed, they are above the rules. That is the power of an inquisitor. They side with that which serves… Like daemons. So, a truce, and a pooling of knowledge and resources… That would far outweigh the differences.’
‘I’d just point out,’ said Lightburn, ‘that earlier you were the one namin’ Ravenor a chief suspect in the murder of your friends. Convincingly so.’
‘And I still think it may have been him,’ I conceded. ‘But inquisitors see the bigger picture, and that’s the Yellow King, not us. We have knowledge Ravenor lacks, leads he knows nothing of. He’ll see the advantage of siding with us, at least on a temporary basis.’
Nayl opened his mouth to speak, but I wasn’t done.
‘And further,’ I said, hand up, ‘face to face, we’ll know. We’ll know if it was him. We’ll know if he’s the enemy that burned Bifrost. We’ll meet with him and make friends, or claim some vengeance.’
‘You reckon we can take him?’ Nayl asked, amused. ‘Him and Kara and Patience?’
‘I’ve beaten Kys before. We’re one-all, in fact. But yes, I think we can. You know their plays, and you’re no slouch. And I am a blacksoul blank, and that trumps his dreaded psykana.’
‘I also have a gun,’ said Lightburn, raising his hand.
Nayl and I looked at him, and we both nodded eagerly to humour him.
‘I don’t relish the idea of this coming to blood,’ Nayl said. ‘But it’s inevitable. So… Maybe it’s best to get it done and over with.’
He glanced at me.
‘Is there nothing I can do to talk you out of this?’ he asked. ‘I mean, technically, you hold no rank over me. In terms of seniority–’
‘And yet here we are,’ I said.
‘Still and all,’ said Nayl. ‘Do you really–’
